


Tending To His Wounds.

by LiterateGamer



Category: For Honor (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Grinding, Love, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex, Touching, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 11:16:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20063137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiterateGamer/pseuds/LiterateGamer
Summary: After a battle, Warden Evelyn tends to Marcos the Conqueror's wounds.





	Tending To His Wounds.

It was a dark, stormy night. The kind of night rare in a land as dry and desolate as Ashfeld. The kind of night that was often accompanied by acidic rain and ashen snow, yet somehow, by some miracle of God, tonight was no such night. 

Indeed, rather than a strike of noxious rain, the wash had been purifying. As if God himself had looked upon the tired soldiers of his domain, and had given them a blessing, a moment’s rest.

Or perhaps, that’s what Marcos wanted to believe. That for once, he had been given respite. And what man wouldn’t hope for it, after such a long stay in the battlefield?

They’d been out at war for weeks on end. Going from location to location, liberating the fronts of Ashfeld from Viking and Samurai warriors. Days before, they’d had a great battle, stormed unto Valkenheim filth spreading through Mt. Ignis. He’d taken a nasty slash to the chest by one of the more proud warriors. One that had met an end by his flail. And yet, the wound simply refused to sit still. Every once in a while, he’d have to disinfect, bandage, and clean-up. All by his lonesome. A fact that bothered the warrior greatly.

And so, he sat next to the balcony, in his private quarters. He stared off into the storm beyond the little space, and pondered as to how he’d gotten there.

He’d fought hard. Harder than most. Forced upon him, a sentence that he did not deserve. He had proven himself in combat, and by the time the Great War’s flames sparked anew, he was chosen.

A Conqueror.

A conscript. A criminal. Wielding a weapon fit for one bound with chains of past and present. Chains now scarred into his arms, From a time he never asked for.

He placed his hand to his chin. Thought and thought. He considered himself lucky. So many before him had not made it. So many lives lost to the great machine.

It was while losing himself in the great lakes of his mind that the knocks to his door came. Hollow echoes that pushed him from the recesses of his consciousness, back into the reality that he partook in. He blinked, shook his head, and quickly straightened himself. His back ached as he stood up, and the wounds under his many dressings pinched into his nerves.

He walked to the old, wooden door, and opened it with a wince and a pull.

What he saw was a sight for sore eyes.

\----

Evelyn was a Warden.

Protector of the innocent, guardian of the people, one who takes an oath upon themselves, who swears that they will do right for those that cannot defend themselves, no matter who, where, or why.

A hefty bit of irony, for a former criminal such as her. 

Maybe that’s why she held a soft spot in her heart for Marcos. The man was brash, insolent, and yet… charming. Something about his gaze reminded her of her own. The way he stared off into the horizon, as if remembering a past that was never quite meant to be. 

That’s why she’d gone out of her quarters tonight, with bundled of herbs and bandages.

She found herself getting nervous, as she paced through the halls. Her footsteps dully rang through cobble, and her mind raced as they did.

Why was she doing it? Leading herself through here, just to get to him?

He was just a criminal, after all. A Conqueror, one of those that were marked by the chains of their past…

And yet, so was she. 

She arrived at the dimly lit door, the worn wooden frame decorated by the shadows that danced with the subtle lick of the torches above. With tentative, hesitant hands, she reached for the metal ring that served as the knock and knob.

It took a couple more seconds of silent contemplation, before she finally lifted the hefty object, and clacked it against the wooden frame. 

Once, twice, thrice. Then, silence. A silence that seemed to last a moment too long, as the woman fidgeted in her spot, running calloused fingers over the various medical supplies that she’d brought. 

It was after what felt like a lifetime, that the door finally opened. And with the most quiet sigh of relief, she resumed her composure, and gave out a cocky smirk to the man that stared at her, with wide open eyes, agape in surprise.

“Hey. Heard you got yourself split pretty badly.”

The man was silent for a moment, before a similar smile crossed his features. His eyes locked onto hers, hazel and emerald glazing over one another. The two gauged each other’s reactions, a little game they’d begun to play when they first met. 

Finally, he stepped aside, motioning her to his room with a grin. His voice came gruff, smooth. He hadn’t talked in a while, which merely added to the gravel that was already present. 

“So, what brings such a refined warrior to my quarters? Came to take the criminal’s head while he’s still injured?”   
  
A dry strike to his poorly bandaged chest. Light, but not enough to prevent him from wincing. He chuckled, even as she motioned to the bed.   
  
“Sit down, you fool. I came here to give you the royal treatment, and dress your wounds with my heavenly, womanly hands.”   
  
She couldn’t help but chuckle at her own admission, an expression he mirrored with much amusement. The man sat down against the bed, and began to slowly remove his bandages. His chest was slowly unveiled. Muscles and indistinct scars, alongside the fresh gashes and wounds of their recent battle. 

She approached, calmly setting down the dressings and bandages she had brought. Her hair fell upon her shoulders, a simple braid to keep the blonde locks straight, tied by a piece of cloth. 

“I think God does enjoy my presence. After all, he sent an angel to heal me.”   
  
“Your petty attempts at flattery won’t get you far, Marcos.” She said, with a chortle. “But they are appreciated. Do tell, however; How did you get these many wounds?”   
  
She inspected them. Placed her hand against the outer rim of his chest, by his shoulder.

“What got you?”

“Big fucker with a sword and shield. Dug it deep, too. Bastard cut right through my armor, too. Kal is gonna kill me.”   
  
“You do have a penchant for destroying his masterful work.”   
  
“Hey, it’s not my fault I’m stuck on the front lines.”   
  
She laughed. “It kind of is, Marcos.”

He shrugged. Pulled his head back, looking at the ceiling. The molten orange of torch-light danced through it, little shapes and shadows that flickered with the light. Her fingers tensed against his skin, pressing down unto the corners of one of his wounds. A sharp inhale from him, but nothing else.

After a few moments, the man spoke once more. An attempt to break the ice.

“What’s your story, Evelyn?”

The needle pierced through flesh. A slight flinch, but naught more. Her eyes turned from the task at hand to him, for just a moment. She quickly turned her head, sewing wounds shut as she spoke.

“Same as everyone else. Grew up, learned how to fight, and was noticed by one of Apollyon’s generals after tragedy. And now I’m here.”   
  


“That it?”

“In essence. And you? You’ve never told me about your crimes.”

He sighed. Mulled over the thought. Did he trust her enough? Could he?

The feeling of the needle slowly passing through his wounds was more than enough proof. He took a deep breath, and began.

“I killed someone.”

The air grew heavy. A sudden chill that came into the room, as Evelyn paused her ministrations. She pulled back, broke off the string that connected the walls of his wound, and silently looked into his eyes. 

He looked away. She took the sign, and continued her work, applying small ointments to the gashes and cuts. He winced lightly. A small sign he was there, but one that was oddly comforting, as she awaited his explanation.

His voice was low. A manly whisper that wasn’t all that unpleasant to her ears.

“I was never the violent type. I was a lad that kept his head down, and kept out of sight. Helped at my father’s smithy, worked for all manner of individuals. Had a mother, a father, and a sister, few years younger than me.” His foot tapped against the floor.

“We were workin’ on this one sword one time. Big guy had ordered it, reckon he may have been a Lawbringer. Carried the same armor of his order. In any case, he’d ordered this beautiful lil’ sword. Tall as his chest, wide as his arms, and decorated with gold, black iron, and silver. Said he was going to gift it to his lord, after beheading a few Vikings with it. At the time, I thought he was the biggest badass I’d ever seen.”

A deep breath. His thumbs toyed with each other, and he gasped ever so subtly as she began to press the bandages against his wounds. The ointment was minty, and stung slightly against his skin. A freshness on his chest, as if it was getting chilled by some unseen frost.

“My father did most of the finer work. I helped him sculpt and brandish the baseline. The blackest iron, tempered perfectly. I hammered away at the molten hot blade, shaped it with fine, serrated details, just as the man had wanted. And then, my father began to sculpt it. The way he worked on the blade, the way he inserted the inlays of gold and silver, the little figures against the guard?”

A melancholic smile was on Marcos’ face. Evelyn had never quite seen anything like it coming from him. Usually, the man held this cocky air around him. A personality difficult to approach, but easy to get along with. A man that did not show any burden of his past, that did not pay any heed to the bearings upon his soul and name.

But this?

This was the smile of a man who’d lost something. Of someone who’d yearned for the past, who wished for something. Not for him… But for someone else.

“The sword was made in a few days. We forged and reinforced during the day. He toiled during the night. An important job, and pops had always been a bit of a hardass. Always had to have everything set perfectly.”

The bandages were set. She fastened them with a small metal wire. Tied into a nice little knot.

“The weapon was made. Perfectly made. And so, it was the day of collection. I was asleep by the time the man came. Had spent the entire night knocking out the final knots on the project. I was awoken by the sounds of a heated argument.”

He bit his lip. Nodded his head idly. Then, his hazel eyes stared into hers. His lips were tightened. His jaw straight.

“The man’s voice was loud. Booming. My father’s seemed almost meek in comparison. The man seemed to be angry. Something about ‘expecting such pay for peasant work’. Said he wanted something more… Something that would be worth the money.”

Evelyn put the bandages away. Against a small wooden rack, leaning against the wall. She sat down next to him.

His fists were clenched. Teeth grit. He looked to her.

“I heard a dry thud echo from outside. The pained grunt of my father’s voice, followed by a hollow crack. Like a stick pounding against a rock. I heard my mother scream. Then, the door was kicked open. It swung against its hinges, and did so so violently I thought for sure a demon had come. And… in a way, I was right.

Stood up from my bed. Headed out to against my room’s door, shaking from fear. I could hear the heavy footsteps of his boots bounding across the hall. I could hear the little screams of my sister. The pounding against her door, before it shattered with a boom.

She was screeching like a banshee. Screams that rang through the house and left a lingering impression in my ears. And at that moment, something in me just… snapped.

I jumped out of my window, barefoot and in my underclothes. Ran to the forge, and grabbed unto the blade. It was heavy, but I was strong. Years of forging had made me strong. And I felt a certain purpose. A rage that built inside of me, a ball of big fucking flame that made my blood boil!

I went through the door, hanging limply from its hinges. And I saw him. He was grabbing unto my little sister by the neck. Pushing her against her bed while she screamed and sobbed. I could hear the fucker chuckle. Bastard enjoyed it. And then…”

He was quiet. For a couple of seconds, before he looked at her with a renowned fire in his eyes. A fire not filled with guilt, but with regret.   
  
“I cleaved the bastard’s skull. Rose the blade and brought it down as hard as I could. Went through the back of his helm, must’ve been weak there. Felt it connect with bone and brain, and then he just wen’ limp. Shortly after that, I was apprehended for the murder of a Lawbringer. And I was thrown into prison, scheduled for execution.”

He looked down.

“Father’s neck was broken. Stepped on. Mother was beaten, but alive. Sister was shaken, but breathing. And I never saw them again. From what I heard, they ran off to some other village. Myre or Valkenheim, doesn’t matter. Last words she ever said to me were g’night, the one before.” 

Evelyn reached out for his hand. She placed hers against his wrist, a tight little squeeze all the communication required. 

“While I was at my prison, body beaten and spirit broken, a man approached me. He was a Lawbringer. Had a proud gait. Lions at his shoulders, a poleaxe that shone of black and gold. Told me to get out of that cell. That I still had a second chance, if I was willing to become a monster. First battle I was out, I proved my worth. A blinding rage filled me, and it was as if my true calling had come. Killed many men. And so, I was given the mantle of the Conqueror, and placed right here, in the front lines.”

He finally exhaled. And she realized she did, too. She’d been holding her breath, leaning closer and closer. She bit the inside of her cheek, organizing her thoughts for a moment before answering. 

“I was a criminal too, once.”

His looks generic that of genuine surprise.

“Bullshit.”

“No, I really was. Not a small time criminal, either. I didn’t have a valid or just reason. No one to protect or save but myself. I was born an orphan. Parents’ died during a Viking raid, and I was taken by some caravan leader at the age of 4. Can’t even remember life before the caravan. All I know from ma and pa, is the necklace I always wear.

This caravan I was in. It was interesting enough. People there were nice. Took care of each other, saw each other as family. Took me in as a stray, really. But, in reality, beyond that sense of union and family, was a bunch of crooks.

Then again, I can’t really complain. They were good people. Big hearts. Did what they could to get by. Thanks to them, by 6 I knew how to pick-pocket. By 10, I could wield a knife better than some Peacekeepers.

It was fun. Hard, sometimes. We’d pull off small heists, get away with big scams and amazing schemes. Once, we managed to fool this Viking town, not so far off the north of Ashfeld. Made them believe that Thor or Odin or whoever the fuck would bless them with crops, if they would just buy our shit for a hefty steel cost. They actually took us up on it, and by the time they realized it was a variety of snake oils and mushrooms, we were already half a day on the road.”

Marcos chuckled. Her face was lit up in a way he adored. Her emerald eyes seemed that much brighter.

“I had so many adventures with them. Lead captain was a fantastic man. Big fat guy, strong as a Raider. Had a lot of tattoos on his chest. Which was funny to me, as he was always extremely hairy!”

She giggled.

“This one woman, Minerva was her name. Used to tell these amazing stories of her days as a pirate. She had flowing raven locks, and such an amazing figure. Knew how to fight with a curved sword, too. Said she got it from the far Eastern pirates, and she didn’t mean the Samurai either.” 

The mood changed. Even if slightly, Marcos could tell the tone of her voice had lowered. That nostalgia that had permeated through him now mirrored in her. Her nonchalant remark of tragedy echoed in his mind.

“We were camped out near a nearby fort when I was 16. Had just escaped another Valken town, with quite a lot of steel to call our own. It was late at night, and everyone was gathered around the campfire, singing songs and telling tales of past and legend. Minerva had hunted the night before, and we’d managed to snatch a feast from the Vikings. Mead was never dry, and before long everyone was merrily moving about in drunken stupor.

It was by the hours after midnight, with no moon to light our night, that they came. They’d been tracking us, maybe. Or maybe they were just finding people for supplies. Crooks like us, but crooks with no honor. No shame.

Blades danced, and by the time the first scream rang out, half the camp was dead. They brandished axes and swords, stabbed while we slept. Minerva protected me. Grabbed unto her sword and brought down several of the assailants. She told me, as she slashed through a bare-chested man’s arm, to run. That there was a village not too far away, protected by a lord who has long since died.

She forced me to run. Told me to never look back, to take the kids with me.

Last I heard of her was a roaring battle-cry as she ran out into the foray. The clash of steel in the night, followed by deafening cracks, pained screams… and the splashes of blood against barren dirt.”

She was looking at her hands. His turn for comfort, placing his on top of hers. A nice little mirror to their previous situation.

“I ran. Ran until my legs could no longer carry me. Until I got to that dinky little village. The next morning I sneaked into a carriage heading to the capital, and then spent a couple years working as a two-bit thug and thief. I stole, fought, and even killed. Anything to survive.

I was 18, maybe 19 when the Warden approached me. Black Iron, orange and black on the coats of his armor. Told me that my life could be better. That all I had to do was follow him, and survive the trial. I figured I had no more to live for… So I took the opportunity. And now look at me, a fierce warrior.”

He piped up, a small stroke of his thumb against her wrist.

“One of the fiercest I’ve ever seen, Evelyn. Scare the shit out of me sometimes, y’know.”

She laughed weakly.

“You bet your ass I am… Even so… I miss them, Marcos.”

He slowly moved his left arm. Sluggish movement, impaired by his wounds. He drifted around her shoulders, before pulling her to his chest.

She relented. Leant her head against his neck.

  
His whispering voice was, to her, as sultry and comforting as always.

“I miss them too. Sometimes I just kinda… Look out the balcony, up at the night-sky, wonderin’ if they can see the same stars I can.”

“I still hold a bit of hope. That some of them made it out. That maybe I’m not the last one.”

He huffed. “Ain’t that a fuckin’ feeling.”

The two of them looked towards each other. The torch-light was waning, its glow dissipating from hours of use. Slowly, the orange and reds disappeared, leaving behind a tenuous blue that made her skin shine, that made his eyes that much deeper and mournful.

The rain had stopped.

Slowly, her hands drifted up from his. Fingers that slid towards his stomach, tracing little circles against the taut muscles of his abdomen, sculpted by years of battle.

She placed her palm against his bandaged chest. Spread her fingers, pinky grasping slightly at his shoulder. 

Slowly, her other arm drifted upwards. Lines at the sides of his torso, curving against his shoulder before resting at his jaw. Slightly scruffy, she ran her fingers against the beard that was barely forming, then below his ear, before grasping at his nape.

Their eyes locked again. No words said. No words needed.

She approached. A small kiss to his jaw. 

He pressed his forehead against hers. Their eyes never unlocked. As if the other would disappear if they did. The moon’s light shone on them.

Her cheeks were flushed. A darker color against her slightly tanned form.

His neck was flushed. His eyes wavering. His lip slightly agape.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“I don’t think I’ve been this sure in a while, Marco…”

And that was all the confirmation he needed.

His hands quickly grabbed unto her hips. Curves that perfectly fit into his palms, scrunching up the clothing she wore. He pulled, not with want, but with need. And she reciprocated. Eyes closed, breath hitched.

They kissed.

A soft connection of their lips, suddenly electrifying their bodies, from head to toe. As if their entire form had burst from its seams, the two had a sudden, explosive confrontation with their desire. A desire so deep, so powerful, it threatened to overwhelm the two.

A desire for love. A desire to be whole once more.

The kiss deepened. Lips that ran over each other. Heated breaths that overlapped, time and time again.

He pulled against her side. She quickly swung her leg over him, straddling him while her arms slung around his neck, her body pressing lightly against his wounds.

He could not have cared less about it. All that mattered was Evelyn.

Tongues connected. A swift, moist dance that brought out the lightest of sighs from both of them. They pressed against each other, not in a battle of dominance, but in a dance of want.

They parted, panting like dogs, flushed and heated. She ran her hands over his hair, his beard. Pulled him by the chin, kissed him again and again.

Their hips moved against each other. At first a subtle movement, soon becoming a romp that left their bodies hotter than before, that left the slightest beads of sweat, to begin forming on themselves. 

They parted. She felt at his neck. At his shoulders. And then, his hands drifted underneath the hem of her shirt. Slid against the cool, pale skin of her taut stomach, well-defined and athletic. His thumbs arched against her, pulling up towards her ribs.

She grabbed unto her shirt. Tore it off, grabbing unto his head and, in an almost animalistic fashion, pulling him against her with a heaving exhale.

His hands groped against her body, fingers grasping at her breasts. Perfectly curved, perfectly round, the mounds of pale skin, seemingly untouched by the sun’s burning light. The mounds fit tinto his hands, his thumbs sinking into the sensitive skin. She heaved, she sighed, she let out the tiniest of gasps as his fingers rolled against the pink nubs of her nipples.

A gasp that turned into a quiet moan as his mouth latched onto her left breast.

His lips closed against the pink bud, tongue washing against it. In a motion most similar to a baby, he suckled against her breast, eliciting sweet little moans and whispers from the woman. Her hips grinded forward, her fingers intertwining against the messy locks of his hair. 

His teeth nibbled at her, little nips that made her squeak. Little squeaks that made his ministrations grow in fervor and passion. He switched breasts, worshipping both of her mounds with the devotion that a goddess like her deserved. His hands groped, pinched, twisted. His teeth grazed and grasped, his tongue rolling against each nipple, completely lathering her in saliva and moisture.

Finally, she pushed him away. Palm softly placed against his chest, her face flushed, her body heaving. 

Another kiss. Fleeting, passionate. Tongues that ran over one another, as her hands slinked beyond his abdomen, into the slacked cloth of his waistband. Her nails grasped unto the material, quickly and strongly pulling at it, her eyes a mixture of want and lust. He raised his hips, she pulled her body upwards. And just like that, his pants went.

She momentarily unhooked herself from him, pulling at her own, eyes looked unto him with teasing affection. A small smirk on her face, her cheeks flushed and red. Sweat had begun unto her brow, her neck. Small droplets that slid through the center of her chest, shining like morning dew in the purifying moonlight.

She leant down. Pulled at her garments, with him doing the same. In a few moments, they were both bare. Bare to the world… and bare to each other.

They stopped. Stared at each other, taking in each other’s appearance. Her body showed definition. Her arms were strong, but not overly muscular. Her hips pronounced, her abdomen ever so slightly marked, yet smooth and womanly. Her thighs, her shoulders, her neck, her eyes…

A small patch of hair, covering her pubis. Her breasts, round and perky. Her lips, full and engorged from the ever so constant kisses.

She knelt over him. Hands that placed themselves on his knees, his muscles tight and well defined. Her nails dragged along his skin, her fingers calloused and worn, yet elegant. Her womanly features never lost, even through the grueling training of war.

She ran over his thighs. Leant her head down, bangs of her hair falling upon her brow, as she kissed at his thigh. He tensed. Relaxed. Spread his legs, ever so slightly, his hands quickly drifting across the nape of her neck, against her braided hair.   
  
She pulled back. Grinned.

He was hard. Extremely so. A man’s body, erect and excited, flushed and wanton. 

She swung her leg, knee pressed up besides his thigh. Her body moved forward, lurching over him. His hand quickly found its place, once more against her hip. The skin sank under his touch, and similarly, so did she.

Her hands grabbed unto him. Fingers grasping around the hardness of his cock, throbbing in her hand.

Another kiss. Right at the neck, sinking teeth that soon followed. He growled, pressed a bit harsher into her skin, his left hand drifting towards her stomach, playing with the curly blond hairs of her mound.

She began to run her fingers against his shaft. Up towards the head, tips pressing against the crown, spreading the lubricating love of his pre-cum all over him, slowly kneading her way downwards. Her touch was electric. Precise. She toyed with his balls, let their weight fill out her hand, hummed and moaned appreciatively into his ear.

Another snarl, a wolf’s warning from him, as he kissed at her jaw, bit at her ear. She paused. Reached behind her, loosening her hair. A few shakes, a pause no longer than a few seconds, more than enough for the wolf to strike.

His fingers pressed against her clit. The bundle of nerves, engorged by her arousal, proved to be the most efficient target. As if she’d taken a stab to the gut, her body locked into place, an unexpectedly harsh reaction, as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck with a dry, barely contained moan.

His fingers rubbed against the bundle of nerves, little circles before he pressed upwards. Juices began to come from her, slowly dripping down against her thighs, down unto his. She turned his head, kissed him with fervor, moaned into his mouth as he began to touch her in earnest. Her hips moved back and forth, undulating as his fingers teased and pressed against her most sensitive spots.

He slid against her slit, quim that stuck to his digits, leaving a small trail of mildewed honey across his hand. Her movements became just a bit more erratic, a sign for him to continue. A plea, perhaps. But not one she would voice just yet.

He entered her. Two digits that parted her walls, and the reaction was instant. A moan escaped her lips, a sultry groan that hung upon the air for a few seconds too long, before she fell right back on his. Her hips ground, her hand grasped unto him, and with that same loving precision, she began to move.

The room was mostly silent. Subtle noises emanating from the two, as they drifted against the bed. The little smacks from their lips, the moist slushing of his fingers inside of her. The way her hand slapped ever so lightly against his pelvis, the little huffs and groans from their throats.

Again. Again. Again.

She seized. Moaned just a bit too loud, parting from his lips and throwing her head back, hair unraveling against her shoulders in locks of gold and ashen silver. Her walls contracted around his fingers, juices coating his thigh, his hand.

Then, she relaxed. An exhale that felt forceful and shattered escaped her lips. And with tentative kisses, she spoke.

“Marcos…”

His name. A simple thing, and one that filled his mind with a terrifying fog.

He plunged his fingers inside of her. Deep. A moan escaped her, nails digging into his shoulder, her hand tightening against his cock.

He sunk his teeth into her neck. His other hand, at the small of her back, pulled her against him, digging his fingers deeper and deeper into her quivering cunt.

Her touch became erratic. Her moans broken by gasps of desperate breath.

“F-Fuck, Marcos!”

Another shock sent through his mind. This sudden feeling of predatory desire, making his blood boil and his heart race like few other things could. As if some being had taken control of him.

A being that wanted one thing only.

Evelyn shook once more, another moan that shook the room. Sweet nectar spurted out of her, coating his wrist evermore.

He pulled back. Allowed her to come down from the crashing waves of orgasm, her eyes closed and mouth slightly agape, a posture so adorably divine in his eyes.

As she rode off of her high, her emerald eyes opened, shimmering stars in the dimly lit darkness of their love. She smiled at him. A smile so pure and genuine, it made his heart flutter. And suddenly, all those feelings of lust, of animalistic want, were gone. Dissipating in the wind, replaced with something far more innocent, and far more alien to him.

Her hands grasped unto his cheeks as she straddled his lip. Hips ground her sensitive, quivering pussy against his excitement, juices that ran down and coated them both in saliva-like quim.

His hands drifted, resting at her upper back, pulling her towards him.

Their eyes closed, their lips connected. The crown pressed against her hole, stretching her in such a delicious manner.

Slowly, he slid into her. No rush. No need for it. A quiet insertion, a drawn-out sigh as the two connected.

Deep inside of her, he felt a warmth envelop his entire form, her walls contracting around him, as if to beg him to stay forever.

She moaned. Whimpered. Whispered.

He groaned. Mumbled sweet nothings into her ear, declarations of love and want landing against her lips.

He moved, arching his hips upward, eliciting sweet melodies from his goddess. A goddess that reciprocated with a slow grind of her hips, sliding and crashing like waves against sand.

Their pace continued. The sweat on their bodies grew and grew, and subtly, they began to move faster.

Quiet whimpers turned into moans. Moans turned into cries.

She bounced against him, feeling him bottom out deep inside of her, stretching her in such a wonderful way. Synapses fired all around her, and every time she kissed him, felt him, it was as if her world was filled with nothing but stars in the blackest night sky.

He pushed against her, his hands marking at her back, her hips, her ass. Globes of perfection that he motioned again and again over himself, each stroke of his cock sending fire through his entire body.

They held on for dear life, Awash in constant motion, over and over again for what felt like hours.

Off of him. On her back. Her legs held against her shoulders, knees pressed against them. Each stroke sent her body into quivering motions, her breasts and hair bouncing with each and every one. 

“Harder…”

“Faster…!”   
  
“Deeper!”

“Evelyn, fuck!”

The gravel in his voice, accentuated by physical effort, melted her mind into constant orgasm. Little shocks that began at her loins, spreading throughout her entire body to coat their forms and the bed with a flow of her love.

Deep, heavy kisses, reverberating through their little corner of the world.

He came. Pumped against her, each stroke heavier than the last. Ropes of his seed, feeling her to the brim. A warm feeling that ran through her entire body. Yet he would not relent.

On her knees. Against the bed. His bandaged chest against her back, his hands gripped unto her neck, her breasts. Desperately pulling her head to the side, anything to feel his lips against hers. Shallow cries, the screams of his name as he moved faster, deeper, harder into her!

Again. Again. Again!

“Fuck me!”

He roared. Bit into her neck, pumped deep into her. His engorged cock spread her further, and with a cry, she milked him dry. 

Another proof that he had claimed her, coating her insides with his seed. White that mixed with her own, spurting their conjoined juices out against the fur sheets, against each other.

Loving kisses as their bodies relaxed. A moment of respite, before they continued.

All night, they would go on. Revelling in each other’s bodies, a release long time overdue for both of them. A release that they gladly accepted, early into the hours of morning, through the crack of a fresh dawn.

\----

It was with movement that Marcos awoke. The sun shone through the balcony, its rays of light basking all that it touched with caring life. His eyes stared at the ceiling of his room, a sudden recollection of the events from the night before.

He turned his head, moved his arm, just to check if it had all been real, or merely another dream.

Her body was soft, the fur coverings spread haphazardly against her rosy form. His hand placed against her shoulder, before settling at her hip.

Her eyes fluttered open. That wonderful green that he had come to adore. 

She smiled. Grabbed his hand, let her fingers glide through his arm, up to his jaw.

“I think I found an angel…” He spoke, his voice soft and cracked.

She pulled him in. Let her head rest against the crook of his neck. Their bodies intertwined, naked forms coming together in the way only lovers ever could.

“I’ve never felt quite like this, Marcos… This connection to someone else? Not in a very, very long time.”

He was quiet. 

“It’s like I’ve finally found the one thing I’ve been searching for, all these years.”

He smirked, “A good fuck?”

She laughed. Pinched at his shoulder, before kissing at his neck.

“More than just a good fuck. Though I do have to admit, you certainly know how to wield a sword, Conqueror.”

“And you certainly know how to polish one, Mrs. Warden.”

They snickered like giddy teenagers, their mirthy laugh going on without subsiding for a good minute or two. Finally, he spoke.

“Feel like I finally got someone that understands me. Who I can trust.”

They were quiet. A silent acceptance. One that was broken, yet again.

“Thank you, Evelyn. For caring about me.”

“I love you, Marcos.”

An arrow loosened from its arch, a phrase that froze the two of them. With index and thumb, he held unto her chin. Pulled her up to look at him, her rosy cheeks flaring in a sudden blush. Her eyes looked up at his, expectantly. He bit unto his lip, suppressing the grin that desperately attempted to claw its way out.

“Do you think you could love a man like me?”

“I don’t need to think about it. I already do. Do you think you could love a crook like me?”

“You don’t need to ask, Evelyn.”

Fingers intertwined. Tightly grasped together.

“I already did.”

\---------

  
  
  


The sun shines over the arid lands of Ashfeld. The cold winds of Valkenheim. The humid, treacherous swamps of the Myre.

The sun shines over a new day in this world. This world full of hardship, war, and conflict.

This world full of drive, emotion… and love.


End file.
